Chosen By The Cursed Alpha King Chapter 209

LUCIEN'S POV

Naomi.

She stood there, rigid as a statue, her hands clasped in front of her like she was holding herself together. Her dark hair was pulled back tight, and her eyes—those familiar hazel eyes—darted to mine before dropping to the floor.

It had been years since I'd seen her. She used to be my personal maid, efficient and quiet, always fading into the background. Then one day, she was gone. Said she'd found her mate and left to start a life with him.

But she wasn't alone.

Hiding behind her legs, peeking out with wide, curious eyes, was a little boy. He couldn't have been more than three or four, clutching the hem of her dress like it was a lifeline. His small face tilted up, and that's when it hit me—like a punch to the gut.

He looked just like me.

Like a replica of me as a child. The same messy dark brown hair that fell over his forehead in unruly waves. And those eyes...deep brown, almost black in the dim light of the room—mirrored mine perfectly. My heart skipped a beat, then hammered against my ribs so hard I thought it might crack them.

What the hell?

I froze in the doorway, my mouth going dry. The air in the room thickened, pressing down on me like a storm about to break. I glanced at the king, searching his face for some explanation, some clue. He just stared back, his expression unreadable, but there was a heaviness in his eyes that made my stomach twist.

Then my gaze snapped back to Naomi and the boy. He ducked further behind her, tiny fingers gripping tighter, but those eyes—my eyes—stayed locked on me.

"What's going on here?" I managed, my voice coming out rougher than I intended. It echoed in the quiet room, hanging there like a challenge.

The king leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. He folded his hands on the desk, but his knuckles were white, like he was bracing himself. He sighed, long and heavy, as if the words were stones he had to push uphill. "Lucien," he said finally, his voice low and measured, "this woman... Naomi... she claims that the boy is yours."

For a moment, the world tilted. The floor seemed to drop out from under me, and everything crashed down—hard, relentless, like an avalanche burying me alive. My vision blurred at the edges, and I could hear my own pulse thundering in my ears. Yours. The boy is yours.

No.

I looked at the kid again, really looked. He was staring back now, not hiding anymore, his little chest rising and falling fast. The resemblance was uncanny—eerie, even. Like someone had taken a photo of me at that age and brought it to life. But that didn't make it true. It couldn't.

I shook my head, slow at first, then harder, as if I could rattle the insanity out of the air. A laugh bubbled up from my chest—sharp, disbelieving, almost hysterical. "This can't be possible," I said, the words tumbling out. "This can't be possible. How the fuck is this boy my child?"

The king's eyebrows furrowed, but he didn't interrupt. Naomi shifted on her feet, her face paling, but she didn't look away this time. The boy whimpered softly, pressing his face into her leg.

I turned to her, my confusion boiling over into something sharper, hotter. "What are you saying, Naomi? What is this about?"

She swallowed hard, her throat working visibly. Her voice came out soft, trembling, like she was afraid the words might shatter everything.

"I was scared to tell you before, Beta, Lucien. I didn't want to cause any trouble... so I left. But Andrea—he's been asking about his dad. Every day, more and more. I didn't know what else to do. I had to bring him to you." She whispered the last part, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Andrea. The name hit me like a stray bullet. I glanced down at him again—Andrea—and he peeked out, curious but wary. My mind raced, trying to piece together fragments that didn't fit. Scared? Trouble? What the hell was she talking about?

I stepped closer, my hands clenching into fists at my sides to keep them from shaking. "What are you even saying? I can't be the father of that kid. We never had anything—nothing like that."

Naomi's face crumpled a little, confusion mixing with hurt. She glanced at the king, then back at me, as if seeking permission or backup.

The room felt smaller now, the walls closing in, the air thick with unspoken accusations. My wolf growled low in my chest, pacing restlessly, sensing the threat but not knowing where to strike.

She had been my maid—nothing more. Efficient, yes. Friendly in a distant way. But intimate? No. I'd never crossed that line. Not with her, not with anyone before Adele. And then she'd left, claiming she'd found her mate. Some guy from another pack. I'd barely thought about it since. People came and went in the palace; it was the nature of things.

So why this? Why now? And why did the kid look so much like me it made my skin crawl?

"I can't be the boy's father," I said again, louder this time, my voice echoing off the stone walls. "I'll say it again—it's impossible."

Naomi's eyes flashed with something—desperation? Anger? She stepped forward slightly, pulling Andrea with her. He clung tighter, but she knelt down, bringing him into full view.

"Can't you see the resemblance?" she pressed, her voice rising just a fraction. "Look at him, Lucien. Really look. The brown eyes... the same dark brown hair. He's the spitting image of you. How can you deny it?"

I did look. God, I couldn't stop looking. The hair...yeah, dark and tousled, just like mine had been before I learned to tame it. The eyes, deep and intense, staring back with a mix of fear and wonder. It was like staring into a mirror from the past. My heart twisted painfully, a cold dread settling in my gut.

But resemblance wasn't proof. It couldn't be. There had to be some mistake, some trick. Maybe she was lying.

My mind spun with possibilities, each one darker than the last. Who was her mate? Where was he now? Why bring this to the king instead of coming to me privately?

The tension in the room was palpable, like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap. The king shifted in his seat, clearing his throat.

I turned fully to Naomi, my voice dropping to a low, controlled growl. "What the fuck is really going on here?"

She looked down, her shoulders slumping, fingers twisting in the fabric of her dress.

The boy—Andrea—whimpered again, and she shushed him softly, stroking his hair. When she looked up, her eyes were wide, pleading. "You don't... you don't remember?"